


through the looking glass

by toromeo (ald0us)



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: M/M, and the eventual murder thing, dubcon, due to the whole identity theft thing and also the kidnapping thing, kind of dead dove due to the premise tbh, yep you read that right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 07:16:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17700002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ald0us/pseuds/toromeo
Summary: Jonathan picks up Sebastian Verlac in a bar.





	through the looking glass

**Author's Note:**

> I joked about this a lot and then read the City of Glass [outtake](https://www.cassandraclare.com/excerpts-extras/becoming-sebastian-an-outtake-from-city-of-glass/), and it was all downhill from there.

Jonathan checked his reflection in the mirror at the entryway to the Hunter’s Moon. He’d taken on a form slightly larger and more muscular than his own, handsome in an almost obnoxious way. The way men were handsome and knew it, knew their power and prestige and expected everyone else to fall in line to their desires. He’d carefully chosen black jeans and heavy black boots, a tight white t-shirt, close-cropped black hair and eyes nearly as dark as his own. After nearly a year of observing his target, Jonathan knew him and his preferences better than he did his own.  
  
Sebastian Verlac sat alone, looking very out-of-place in the downworlder bar. His prissy little cardigan and fully buttoned dress-shirt labeled him _Nephilim_ even more than his arrogant posture and the smell of angel’s blood that rolled off him in waves. He’d downed two beers and already looked a bit tipsy, his cheeks rosy and his grip on the third beer a bit unsteady.  
  
Two vampires from another booth gave him the occasional hungry glance, and if Jonathan hadn’t had plans for him, he would have found it rather amusing to watch little Sebastian get made into a vampire snack. Instead, he crossed the room to where Sebastian sat, stopping in front of his table. Sebastian looked up at him with interest—the only other Nephilim in the bar were busy making out with each other in a way that brought to mind an Elapid demon.  
  
“You new around here?” Jonathan asked. His voice came out lower than he was accustomed to, and louder. Sebastian had arrived in New York just four days ago. His apartment was a short-term rental on AirBnb for the next three weeks. Jonathan had already confirmed that the reservation could be extended.  
  
“I am,” Sebastian said, in his unbearably posh voice. He held out a hand; Jonathan took it. It was warm, soft, just barely lined with calluses. Trimmed, unbroken nails, clean and neat. He was not an active field agent but a researcher—and a good one. Verlac specialized in demonology and had published an excellent dissertation on greater demons three months ago. Jonathan had read it in its entirety, and could verify its accuracy. “Sebastian Verlac. From the London Institute.”  
  
“Daniel Hawthorne. New York.” Jonathan squeezed Sebastian’s hand a bit harder than necessary. “Is that what you guys do in London? Drink alone at bars?”  
  
“Er, no.” Sebastian’s high, elegant cheekbones turned a bit more pink. “You’re welcome to join me, if you like.”  
  
Jonathan squeezed into the booth next to him, making sure to sit closer than he had to and let his hand brush Sebastian’s leg. Up close he smelled of sweet angel blood and book and something citrusy like lemon soap. “So what do you do in London, Sebastian?”  
  
Sebastian brightened slightly. There was nothing he loved more than talking about his work, Jonathan knew. “I study demonology,” he said, with a slightly apologetic tone as if he expected to be mocked. “Greater demons, mostly. We’ve made a lot of advances in terms of specific knowledge of how to banish them, and are looking to train special teams to deal with each of them.”  
  
“Really?” Jonathan put great interest in his voice. “I’ve killed a lot of demons, but I cant say I’ve ever met a greater one.”  
  
“They’re very dangerous,” Sebastian said superfluously. Jonathan had leaned in slightly closer as if to listen and the blush on Sebastian’s cheeks was deepening. It probably didn’t help Jonathan was making close study of Sebastian’s plump, pretty chest (never had Jonathan’s pectorals looked like that, and he was quite sure he was more physically fit). “Azazel, for instance, could easily kill everyone in this bar with a snap of his fingers. And that’s just in his humanoid form. In the Middle Ages it’s estimated he could destroy an entire army in a minute.” He looked Jonathan’s way, and his light lashes fluttered slightly. “What do you do?”  
  
“Kill things,” said Jonathan with a lazy smile. “Demons, mostly. So what do you think of New York?”  
  
“It’s very nice,” Sebastian lied. He was too polite to say what Jonathan knew he thought—that New York was dark, filthy, and had horrible food. He’d stopped at a café for tea two days ago and upon realizing that New Yorkers routinely microwaved teawater looked as if he might pass out. He’d ordered coffee instead, plenty of milk and sugar. “Are you from around here?”  
  
“I was born in Idris,” Jonathan said, truthfully. Idris was the only place Sebastian truly felt at peace—Jonathan preferred cities, big ones, filled with so many busy people he was practically invisible. Could watch and learn as facelessly as he pleased. “Near Alicante. Moved around a fair bit after that. Were you raised in London?”  
  
“Yes. After my parents died.” Sebastian looked away quickly; he’d never quite gotten over his parents’ death. It had been a demon attack.  
  
“I like your accent. It’s cute.” Jonathan gave him a look that could not be interpreted as casual, or chaste, then moved for contrition. “I’m sorry about your parents.”  
  
Sebastian flushed a little bit. He was so desperately afraid of rejection—and equally afraid of acceptance—that Jonathan was pretty sure he liked someone who came on a bit strong, took the lead. Even if he was reluctant to admit it to himself. “It was a long time ago.” He gave a pretty, charming smile, and Jonathan had to admit he wasn’t immune. “And of course you like the accent. Americans would give anything not to sound so crass.”  
  
Jonathan gave a suggestive grin. “Crass, am I?”  
  
Sebastian took a hasty sip of his beer; he looked somewhere between apprehensive and extremely horny. It was a very good look—it stirred something dark and possessive in Jonathan he’d been increasingly feeling towards the man, even if he was over half a decade older than him. He did not stop himself from raising a hand to brush his finger over Sebastian’s cheek. It was flushed and warm to the touch.  
  
“I, um.” Sebastian swallowed; his translucent lashes fluttered. Jonathan’s once looked like that. He looked uncertain, flustered, as if Jonathan were a predator who had cornered him. As if he knew. “I—Daniel, it—“  
  
“Somewhere more private?” Jonathan asked, just audible over the bar’s noise. He was now so close he could feel Sebastian’s unsteady breath against his cheek. His eyes were so blue. He looked like an angelic poster child, as if a mundane had sculpted what they thought an angelic being should look like. Jonathan hated him as much as he wanted him—wanted him and wanted to be him, slip inside that perfect skin, have people look at him the way they looked at the perfect Verlac shadowhunter.  
  
Sebastian’s eyes were uncertain, but Jonathan couldn’t miss the quickening of his breath, the way his tongue darted over his lips. “My—my apartment—it, uh, it isn’t so far from here.”  
  
Jonathan knew where it was. He’d been inside the building a few times, and had looked in through the windows when Sebastian had been away at the corner store buying Asprin—he got migraines so often. “I’d like that,” he says, locking his gaze with Sebastian’s so that he could not look away. “I’d like that very much.”  
  
  
  
  
“Terribly sorry about the mess,” Sebastian said quickly. His heart was clamoring in his chest, nerves jangling in his fingertips. The American shadowhunter watched him with his dark eyes, and Sebastian’s heart skipped a beat and he looked quickly away when he saw the desire in them. He kicked his bunny slippers under the bed and gestured weakly to the kitchen. “Tea? I have Earl Grey, English Breakfast—“  
  
Daniel Hawthorne crowded behind him, thick, muscled arms curling around him, pushing him against the counter of the island. Heat spread over the back of his neck and Sebastian nearly yelped when Daniel’s lips grazed the nape of his neck. There was something ferociously intense, almost predatory, about him that set his blood alight. He definitely hadn’t prepared for this—he didn’t even _own_ condoms, or any form of lubrication, and what had he eaten for lunch? He'd forgotten.  
  
“Shh.” Daniel’s voice vibrated on his skin, interspersed with the slight, teasing pressure of his lips and teeth trailing over Sebastian’s skin. His voice was rough and rumbled lowly in Sebastian’s chest. “Stop thinking. I can _hear_ you thinking.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Sebastian said, reflexively. He gasped as Daniel’s body pressed over him, something firm and— _by the Angel_ that was his cock, it had to be—persistent against the material of his trousers. Daniel’s hips rolled and Sebastian made a noise of surprise as his own hipbones jammed against the granite countertop, a bit painfully. Daniel’s hands were on his chest, groping him—Sebastian could feel his face turning furiously hot. It was shameful and thrilling all at once, allowing another man to do this to him—to let another man fuck him. He _did_ want to be fucked, that much was obvious by his own shaking breath and the hot, insistent throbbing spreading from his cock and over his skin, the trembling weakness in his knees.  
  
Daniel’s hands went to the buttons of his shirt and electricity shot through Sebastian where Daniel’s fingers brushed his chest. A breathless sound escaped his mouth and Sebastian nearly clamped a hand over it. “Don’t be ashamed,” Daniel said, and damn, that hideous accent was getting under his skin, just like the hand sliding over his bare chest and the mouth spreading heat over his ear. His torso was a heavy weight over Sebastian’s own, making his chest tight and his breath pleasurably short. “It’s natural.”  
  
His hand touched Sebastian’s nipples, drawing another shameful noise. The touch to the sensitive skin was almost unbearably intimate—his instincts warred on whether to wriggle away or beg for more. “We’re trained to suppress ourselves, aren’t we? Our emotions, our desires. True power comes from embracing them.”  
  
He grabbed Sebastian’s hips and lifted him easily onto the counter, making Sebastian gasp and scrabble desperately for purchase, knocking a cup of pens and his favorite tea mug off the counter. All thoughts of mourning its loss were promptly blasted away as his bare chest met the cold granite. He felt like some ridiculous actor in a dirty film, squealing and kicking on the kitchen counter. Daniel fumbled with the buckle of his belt, pushing it free and pulling his trousers off. He felt exposed, cold, something like the clammy chill of battle washing over him—  
  
“Wait,” he gasped out.  
  
Daniel halted. Sebastian let himself back down from the countertop gingerly, not trusting his legs to support him. When he turned around, Daniel’s single-minded passion had suddenly shrank to something akin to hesitance; Sebastian tried to pull his clothes into some semblance of order and failed. Daniel wasn’t meeting his eyes, like a very large puppy chastised for disobedience. Sebastian pulled himself up to his most regal height—which wasn’t very regal with his shirt hanging around his elbows and his trousers around his knees—and gestured to the bed. “If you’re going to fuck me, it won’t be like a rabid animal.”  
  
Wordlessly he made his way to the bed, stepping out of his trousers and trying not to feel particularly silly in his socks and pants. Daniel followed him, and by the Angel there was something in the way he looked at him that sent a shiver down his spine. Then the American shadowhunter’s approach stuttered, drawing up short of the bed.  
  
Sebastian laughed. Some of the chill had worn off, and he was feeling warmer, more comfortable in his own space. “I’ve rather knocked the wind from your sails, haven’t I?” He patted the space on the golden covers next to him. “I can make some tea, and we can do this properly.”  
  
Daniel’s expression shifted to one of illegible curiosity and he sat, the mattress creaking beneath his weight. His arms were massive, and his hands—they had probably killed many demons. “You do this often?”  
  
“Do you?” Sebastian countered mildly. The kitchen was a bit colder, which made him shiver again, but once he had the kettle on the heat from the stove warmed things up a bit. He picked out two cups, the “I heart NYC” one for Daniel, and opened the drawer where he’d stored the tea he’d brought from home. “I thought you Americans were all dreadfully prudish. Descended from the Puritans and all that.”  
  
The truth of it was, he didn’t. Nephilim were obsessed with reproduction and purity of their bloodline, so secretive and political with all its backstabbing intricacies, he didn’t dare. Marriage was innately political and so were men like him and Daniel.  Not that it didn’t mean he hadn’t ever indulged himself—with mundanes, laughing off his runes and leaving quietly in the mid-morning. Daniel so brazenly approaching him in a bar—well, it had been exhilarating. Terrifying and exciting all at once.  
  
There wasn’t much excitement in a scholar’s life.  
  
“Only some of us.” By the Angel, that accent was as grating as it was alluring. It fit with the rest of him, black hair and gritty stubble, worn motorcycle boots. He looked as if he’d stepped off the pages of an American comic, bold lines and muscular thighs intact. Sebastian poured the tea and carried the mugs over. Daniel accepted one with a nod of thanks and Sebastian noticed a long scar on the outside of his forearm—looked like a demon injury. Eiolodon, if Sebastian had to guess.  
  
Sebastian took a long sip of his tea, sitting on the edge of the bed. The heat seeped into him, lending him the strength of familiarity. “Look, Daniel, I...don’t do this often. But...the way you spoke at the pub, I—“ he broke off, looking into his mug. Another sip of tea. More quietly, “I want this. I want this a great deal.”  
  
Daniel was still looking at him, the intensity in his eyes ferocious. The lamplight cast a comfortable glow on his skin, hard and weathered. Sebastian noticed his long, narrow nose was bent, broken and healed badly at the middle. He leaned in, and Sebastian smelled of the harsh tang of _adamas_ mixed with leather and a tantalizing musk. “I want you too.”  
  
Sebastian kissed him, lightly at first, then more deeply. The mug of tea was moored on the bedside table, his hands going to Daniel’s firm shoulders, fingers pulling at the thin material of his t-shirt. Daniel’s hands found his waist, pulling off his shirt, digging into his hips. Daniel’s arms were hard and strong as firm-packed clay, the flex of his back powerful under Sebastian’s touch, his kisses eager and a bit too aggressive, wet with too much teeth. Sebastian kissed him back just as desperately, parched and starving. By the Angel, he _wanted_.  
  
Daniel’s arms curled around his waist and the world shifted, the softness of the mattress pressing up against his bare back. Daniel’s weight curled around him, pressing into Sebastian’s torso. Stubble scraped at Sebastian’s skin as Daniel’s mouth found its way down his jaw, his neck, his chest. Sebastian felt a little mad with it, fireworks trailing every touch of his lips. There was no hesitance, no embarrassment, nothing to Daniel that made it seem that this was anything but natural, and it felt like a weight lifted from his shoulders, bands loosened from around his chest. He could breathe—by the Angel, he could breathe. He could be as loud as he damn well pleased, surrounded only by the company of strangers.  
  
Daniel mouthed heat and wetness over Sebastian’s stomach, making him arch up against the bedsheets. He looked up, and by the Angel, he made such a picture like that, inky hair askew and black button eyes feverishly intense, poised over Sebastian like a large, predatory cat. Daniel smiled. “Lie back. Let me take care of you.”  
  
Sebastian didn’t argue. He didn’t have the remaining brain power to do much of anything, all the blood flowed from his synapses to, ah, lower extremities. He leaned back against the mattress, letting the pillows catch him, sighing out all the tension that had built up on the way back from the downworlder bar. Daniel tugged his jeans all the way off, surprisingly gentle, folding Sebastian’s legs at the knee and pushing them apart. The velvet smoothness of his mouth contrasted with the bright hot prickle of his facial hair.  
  
“Tell me what you want,” Daniel murmured, the lamplight making their skin shine golden as he worked his way down Sebastian’s thigh. Sensitive skin thrilled and Sebastian gasped in delight as the kisses reached higher and higher. Besides basic grooming he certainly hadn’t shaved—or Heaven forbid, waxed—any part of him but Daniel didn’t seem to care or even notice, too absorbed in the pagan worship of Sebastian’s skin. “Give me everything. Anything.” Sebastian whimpered as Daniel’s tongue dragged up his length slowly, reverently. Heat enveloped him as Daniel took him in his mouth—a bit clumsy, but with rapt seriousness. All his thoughts, his fears, his whirring worries melted away, immolated by the pure, firey feeling pusling through him. Dimly he could feel Daniel’s hands on his thighs, stroking his skin, the tickle of his breath on Sebastian’s navel.  
  
Sebastian groaned in helpless exultation, clutching weakly to the sheets above him and not even trying to avoid sounding like a whore. The sounds falling from his own mouth added fuel to the fire building at the base of his spine, pulling at the cords of his muscles, making his toes curl. “Wait,” he gasped out again, breathless. Daniel halted, pulling off him with an obscene sound, trailing a thin tendril of saliva. Their eyes met, an intense frission of electricity dancing over Sebastian’s skin. His voice was husky and shockingly sexy when he said, “I like a bit of suspense.”  
  
Daniel’s slightly puffed lips curled upwards as Sebastian gingerly re-arrange himself on the bed. The temptation to rub up against the mattress was unbearable, but Sebastian exercised self-restraint, wiggling his hips and stretching his arms up over his head to elongate the line of his back. Daniel’s weight shifted the mattress as he climbed lithely over top him, his voice reverberating deep in Sebastian’s chest. “You got anything?”  
  
“There’s olive oil by the stove,” Sebastian said, wishing there was something on hand that would keep Daniel closer. He imagined Daniel’s crushing weight over him again, pressing him into that mattress, grinding into his arse—  
  
The mattress shifted abruptly again as Daniel made his way silently into the kitchen. A clink of the bottle and then the soft sound of Daniel’s footsteps. Sebastian couldn’t help but squirm in helpless anticipation. Every fibre of his being begged for Daniel to hurry. When he finally returned, the American shadowhunter looked adorably shamefaced (Puritans, after all). “Uh, should I, or do you want to—?”  
  
Sebastian grabbed the bottle without a word and poured out the olive oil onto his fingers. It was slick and rich and he was profoundly glad it didn’t have any herbs in it or Angel forbid, garlic. Working himself open was an awkward affair, a bit clumsy and certainly out of practice, but it felt surprisingly good and the slick unpleasant sounds were covered by crackling plastic and Daniel’s soft swearing.  
  
“Ready, sweetheart?” Daniel asked, and by the Angel, that voice. It sent a shiver right down Sebastian’s spine and directly between his legs. It didn’t matter that sweetheart was what Aunt Elodie’s slightly overbearing nurse called him, and it didn’t matter that the hair on Daniel’s chest made his back itch. He _needed_ , and by Heaven, he needed now.  
  
“Yes,” Sebastian gasped out, breaking off as Daniel took a handful of his arse. “Yes, yes, Daniel, _please_ —“  
  
“Keep going,” Daniel’s voice growled into his ear, hiking Sebastian’s hips up enough to find purchase. Sebastian pulled at the sheets, distraught—he needed it now. “How much you want me. I want to hear.”  
  
Sebastian would have damn well given Daniel his demonology thesis defense if he’d asked for it, moaned it out right there, arse-naked and face-down on his own coverlet. He had a very guilty feeling Asmodeus would approve of his current activities. “Please, Daniel, I—it’s good it’s perfect I just need— _please_ —“  
  
He broke off as Daniel pushed into him, not wholly gently. All breath choked off in his lungs, his muscles automatically tightening and intensifying the burn. He sucked in a huge, dizzying breath, rainbows of fireworks shooting up his spine. He was so close it was almost terrifying, his whole being reduced down to that punishing sensation, the teasing sparks thrown off when Daniel found just the right movement of his hips. Lush, decadent, awful sounds were flowing freely from his throat, drawn out of him like honey. He needed and he loved the need, craving every mounting hike towards bliss.  
  
Sebastian gave a choked groan and went limp, Daniel following suit a heartbeat later. Heat and lightning swept through him like a flush of holy water and he groaned in abandon. Daniel clutched at his chest, at his ass, riding out the ecstasy. Then as soon as it had come they were spent, panting side by side, perfect strangers no more. Daniel’s enormous bicep was pressed into Sebastian’s cheek, and he had absolutely no volition to change it.  
  
“By the Angel,” said Sebastian, once he’d regained his ability (and the lung capacity) to speak. He unearthed his arm from beneath his body, which felt too heavy to possibly lift, and tucked it under his chin. Daniel was looking at him with those black eyes, still so intense it made his skin prickle. “To think my plans for the evening included taking a bath and analyzing dialectic variation in summoning chants.”  
  
Daniel gave a short, almost harsh laugh. “You might have to put off those plans for a while.”  
  
Sebastian made a rather undignified, whiny noise and flopped a leg over Daniel’s, nudging Daniel’s ankle with his toes. Their skin was dewey with intermingled sweat, the sheets soaked with it; Sebastian was pretty sure he could feel a wet circle of his own spit. Ordinarily, this and the other bodily fluids would be grounds for recoiling in terror and washing—no, throwing the sheets away entirely. Now, he was far too spent to care. “Stay. Sleep with me.”  
  
A raised eyebrow, thick and dark as charcoal. “Pretty sure I just did that.”  
  
“Very funny.” Sebastian tugged at Daniel’s arm, pulling him in closer. He might as well have attempted to break the wards of Idris. Gamely, Daniel rolled over and put an arm over Sebastian’s waist, letting him snuggle in close. His body threw off heat like a furnace, something dark and smoldering.  
  
“Don’t worry,” Daniel said, his angular face and impossibly square jaw swimming in front of Sebastian’s eyes. There was a peculiar smile on his face that made his dark eyes shine. “I’m not going anywhere.”  
  
  
  
  
  
He must have drifted off because when his eyes drifted open Sebastian could hear the water running. A shower, from the sounds of it, hundreds of tiny droplets drumming against the bottom of the tub. A hot one, from the billowing steam emanating from the bathroom. Too hot. It must be scalding. A deep, drowsy part of Sebastian’s consciousness thrilled in concern and he attempted to sit up. The apartment was hazy, like he was watching everything unfold from behind the dancing air rising up from a fire. He lay back down, sucked in by the leaden pillows.  
  
The bathroom door opened and Sebastian blinked—once, twice, in astonishment. Just as he raised a hand to rub at his eyes the phantom disappeared, like a half-naked ghost. The concern had raised to alarm, though he could not quite imagine why. He closed his eyes, as if his eyelids were weighed down by stones. He was so warm, so satiated, like he’d fallen asleep by a roaring fire. All volition had left him—he wanted nothing more than to snuggle up against Daniel’s side and ride off into the waves of gentle sleep. “ _I’m sorry,”_ a gentle, all-too-familiar voice whispered. Childlike. Chafing raw against his consciousness, as if from a terrible dream. _“Once I’m done here you can come back. Go home.”_  
  
Sebastian opened his eyes, just a sliver, enough to peer through the shining translucency of his lashes. Familiar blue eyes, a different weight on the mattress, blonde hair. The fingertips tracing his cheekbone no longer rough and calloused but soft and slim. He shuddered, from deep in his gut and his chest all the way to his hands that grasped blindly at the covers. “Everything’s going to be just fine,” he heard his own voice say, from the lips of a strange version of his own smile. The wrongness of his own lips pressing to his in a kiss. “Sleep. I’ll put the kettle on.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry not sorry tbh. If you enjoyed please drag me in the comments below.


End file.
